was plain the coffee had been made by the Siora Bettina.

"What! is it so bad?"

"Quite vile!"

"Well! I made it myself; and I can assure you that I made it
strong; there were no dregs."

"True; it may be, my mouth is out of taste."



CHAPTER XXXIX.



I walked about the whole morning in a rage. "What an abandoned
wretch is this Julian! what, call my letter a joke! play at ball
with it, reply not a single line! But all your infidels are alike!
They dare not stand the test of argument; they know their weakness,
and try to turn it off with a jest. Full of vanity and boasting,
they venture not to examine even themselves. They philosophers,
indeed! worthy disciples of Democritus; who DID nothing but laugh,
and WAS nothing but a buffoon. I am rightly served, however, for
beginning a correspondence like this; and still more for writing a
second time."

At dinner, Tremerello took up my wine, poured it into a flask, and
put it into his pocket, observing: "I see that you are in want of